


Rest and Be Well

by pippen2112



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Consensual Kink, Dom Emily, Established Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Hand Jobs, Kink as Catharsis, Light Bondage, Light Dom/sub, Oral Sex, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Praise Kink, RvB Rare Pair Week, Sub Wash, post s15
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-07
Updated: 2018-05-07
Packaged: 2019-05-03 14:48:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,020
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14571315
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pippen2112/pseuds/pippen2112
Summary: By the time she gets back to her apartment after her shift, Emily’s eyelids are drooping, and her brain has gone fuzzy.  Maybe she should listen to Vanessa and her nurse Andrew and take an extra day off.  But who had time for a vacation when people kept breaking and there weren’t enough medical professionals on the planet to put them back together?





	Rest and Be Well

By the time she gets back to her apartment after her shift, Emily’s eyelids are drooping, and her brain has gone fuzzy. These twenty-four hour shifts are not pleasant, but until the latest class of students get through med school, they’re not going anywhere. Maybe now that the UNSC isn’t breathing down Chorus’s neck, they’ll be able to scrounge up a few more emergency medical professionals, but she’s not holding her breath. 

After all, the trip to Chorus alone is far longer than the maximum recorded twenty five minutes for a human holding their breath, and her lung capacity is hardly that practiced.

She closes the front door and presses her forehead to the metal. All things considered, today was hardly extreme. Standard exams before lunch, an emergency c-section—another two lives added to the population—and a practicum debridement for the interns to observe before daily rounds. Nothing compared to even the lightest days of the War. Emily shakes her head. Maybe it was just her body finally starting to tire out around her. Maybe she should listen to Vanessa and her nurse Andrew and take an extra day off. But who had time for a vacation when people kept breaking and there weren’t enough medical professionals on the planet to put them back together?

“Em?” A thin, weak voice sounds behind her just before a tender hand lands on her shoulder. Wash. He’s dressed in a thin t-shirt and his favorite pair of sweat pants, his hair sticking out at odd angle and his head titled sideways. 

Exhaling slowly, Emily turns to get a better look at him. He’s got dark circles around his eyes, but those never seem to fade no matter how much rest he gets. The bandage around his throat is rumpled and frayed at the edges but still clean. He might have scratched a little, but that’s hardly worth chastising him over. After all, he’s made excellent progress in the three weeks he’s been in her care. His speech is improving daily.

But then she notices his reddened, heavy eyes and the crust of drool at the corner of his mouth, and her eyebrows pull together. Keeping her voice low and even, she rubs his arms. “I’m sorry, sweetie. Did I wake you?”

Wash lets his head fall forward as he pulls her into his arms. She hugs him tight and feels him sink into her, letting her take his weight. “Not really,” he mumbles into the crown of her head.

Her brow wrinkles further. “Another nightmare?”

For a tense moment, he’s motionless, but she feels his resigned nod. She can feel the resistance in his arms. Oh, he did not want to admit to that, but he knows the rules: answer all questions honestly, say when something upsets you, and no crumb-prone food in bed. And here he is, admitting to what’s bothering him, even if she had to prompt him. Compared to the early days of their relationship when he wouldn’t report the injuries he acquired while sparring with Locus, she will take it.

She soothes her arms around his back and holds him tight. “Would you like me to help you shake off the dream?”

A shiver runs through his frame. She looks up and gets a close up of his wide-eyed want. In spite of her taxing shift, a pulse of energy ripples through her at the sight. He’s been on the cusp of a break since he was released from the hospital two weeks ago and decided he wanted to stay with her for a while before heading back to Iris with the Reds and Blues. Between the ill effects of malnutrition, exhaustion, muscle fatigue, the bullet wound, and flare ups of anxiety and amnesia, he was bound to need something sooner or later. She just had to wait until he was ready to trust her to put him back together.

But as quickly as the look crosses his face, Wash tucks his chin to his chest and pulls back. He shakes his head.

Emily purses her lips, her hands catching him by the elbows before he can pull away entirely. “Do you really not want help, or are you trying to ignore your needs for my sake?”

Even in the darkness, she can see the flush spread across his cheeks. “I don’t want to be a burden,” he admits, his words nearly lost to the whir of the air conditioner. 

With a small grin, Emily tugs him down and kisses him. His lips part for her, letting her control the speed and force of the kiss. A quick swipe of her tongue across his lower lip has him groaning into her mouth, and her grin pulls broader. When she breaks the kiss, she stands on her tiptoes and cups his cheek, smiling. “Don’t call yourself a burden, Washington, or I will make you regret it.”

His pupils expand as his blush darkens. Good. With a satisfied nod, she takes his hands and leads him to the bedroom. She pushes him toward the bed and deviates to the en suite bathroom. She turns on the light but pulls the door partly closed, allowing only a little light to diffuse into the room. 

The dark is more for Wash’s benefit than her own. The first few times they tried this kind of play back in her quarters with the FAC, he panicked and hid in her closet for the better part of an hour. She talked him through the panic attack easily enough, but it is not an experience she wants to repeat. Through trial and error they’ve learned Wash can let himself go in the darkness, when he doesn’t feel like all the eyes of the world are on him. True, she’d love to dress him up and display him in her living room window, but relationships are all about compromise. Maybe one day when they’re both ready for it; Wash would look great in an under-bust corset, flushed down to his perky, clamped nipples, slowly dripping into a pair of lace panties.

When she comes back to the bed, Wash leans into her once more. His lips trail along her neck, warm and wanting and mildly chapped. For the moment, she lets her eyes fall closed and relaxes into the kisses; they’ve been together long enough he knows just where to nuzzle to make her pulse quicken. But when he pushes up the hem of her shirt, she bats his hands away, and her eyes open. 

“Stay still for me.” Her voice is low and calm, but the order is unmistakable. 

Sighing, Wash pulls back and plants his hands on the bed at his side, the exhausted tension coiling tight in his shoulders. Anticipation. He wants to break, so she’ll give him every bit he deserves.

Her fingers drag up his arms, over old scars and goosebumps. Not too long ago, she was cutting him out of his armor to prep him for emergency surgery, her hands trembling when they wheeled him away to an operating room and all she could do was observe. She shakes away those thoughts and pushes up his shirt. He raises he arms before she can ask. She leaves the garment tangled around one of his wrists and brings his arms together crossed at the small of his back before binding them. He shivers, holding absolutely still as his breath stutters in his throat.

“Tell me your color, Wash.”

He blinks at her for half a second as he works his throat and dredges up his voice. “G-green.” Even ragged from healing, she can hear the ring of truth. Good. She’d hate if she had to punish him for lying; she prefers to spoil her subs.

She runs her fingers through his hair, carefully north of his implant site. “Good boy. Nice and still for me.”

He nods slowly, his head tipping forward subconsciously. She grins at the sight. A few commands and a half-assed tie, and he’s like putty.

She lets her hands roam freely, working through his hair and over his back and down his chest. His breath hitches when she steps in between his legs and presses her knee against his groin. Before he can stop himself, his hips roll forward into the pressure, but he lurches to a stop mid-thrust. There’s a cut-off noise. She peers down at him, and even in the darkness she can just make out his bottom lip caught between his teeth. 

Frowning, she cups his cheek and rolls her thumb across his lip. “What is this?”

Wash startles, his eyes and mouth tipping open at once. His skin burns beneath her palm, his breath coming quick and short as he drags himself back to cognizant. “It felt too good,” he says, his voice rasping over and bumping into every word. He’s dropping fast tonight. 

“Good. It’s supposed to,” she says quickly, more of her usual energy seeping into her stature. She cocks a hip and leans close, kissing him quick before grabbing his lower lip between her teeth. When she releases it, she continues, “But I need to hear you, sweetie. I want to hear you. So long as it doesn’t hurt your throat, don’t hold back any of those pretty, little noises.”

He gulps and ducks his head but nods just the same. Another smile tugs at the corners of her mouth. Wash is so endearing when he wants to behave.

She pulls back and carefully works his sweatpants and underwear down his legs, leaving him bare to her. His penis is already flushed and standing tall—she’d be concerned about him passing out except his face is still bright red, so he’s obviously getting at least some blood to his brain. Here, she takes a moment to consider. They’ve discovered a couple different things that Wash likes over the course of their relationship, some of which contradict each other depending on the situation. Overstimulation, denial, stress positions, obedience training, among so many others, but they each serve fit a specific mindset. A unique goal.

“Tell me what you want.”

Wash looks up at her, his eyes searching. She hardens her gaze for just a moment; she’s not gonna let him use her own desires as a shortcut. Grasping his chin firmly, she tips his head back as she steps in between his eyes, not once breaking eye contact. “What you want, sweetie. You may not like what I have in mind.”

“I want…” He blinks away from her gaze, gulping. She doesn’t move into his line of vision, but she doesn’t ease her grip either. After a moment, he looks back to her, his pupils dilated. “I wanna earn it.”

And that is the kind of request she can work with.

Without another word, she nudges his legs until he shifts farther onto the bed. She helps Wash up onto his knees and has him shuffle to the center of the bed before easing him onto his front. He tries to lie all the way flat, but she smacks his ass to stop him. “Stay on your knees.”

He groans into the mattress and spreads his legs to better balance his weight. At this angle, the bathroom light illuminates Wash’s pale, freckle-spotted ass. She grins down at it, wondering how many times he went skinny dipping to earn so many freckles. How many sunburns he had to suffer through. 

After a moment, he goes rigid. She looks up and follows his line of sight to the bedroom door. From this position, the bathroom is in his blind spot. But there’s no windows in there, just her closet, toilet, and shower cubicle. She runs a steady hand down his spine. “Shh, you’re okay, Wash. You’re safe and secure. I’m going to take good care of you, and if something were to happen, you can break the tie in half a second. Now, tell me your color.”

Hesitating for a moment, he clasps his hands together and answers, “Green.”

“Good boy,” she says as she backs off the bed. “I’m going to clean up. Stay right here for me, and I’ll be back before you know it.” 

Wash whines as her weight leaves the bed, but the next moment, he settles into position, balancing between his knees and his chest, each breath thin but steady. He won’t be able to wait long tonight. Five minutes will do.

With one last reassuring pat to his flank, Emily begins counting in her head. In the bathroom, she strips out of his scrubs and rinses off quickly—a carry-over from her days with the military. She dries herself and pulls on an over-sized cable knit sweater, a Christmas gift from the Reds and Blues. The entire thing is a hideous mess of colors and knots and somehow the left sleeve is a foot too long, but it’s soft and warm and makes her smile. By the time she gets to two hundred eighty nine, she’s rolling on a pair of thigh high socks. She forgoes underwear for now; they’ll only get in the way.

When she pads out of the bathroom, Wash is faintly trembling, his hands fisted in his t-shirt bonds. Were it not for the bright red erection dangling between his legs, she’d be concerned; instead, she can only beam.

“What a good boy, staying just where I put you.” She crosses the room and pats his ass, letting her fingers idly circle his rim. When he lets out a weak whimper but doesn’t so much as twitch into her touch, she coos. “Such a good boy. Someone’s looking for a reward.”

“Please.” He even presses his head into the bedding and arches back toward her.

Emily laughs. “No, sweetie. Not tonight. Neither of us has the patience to make it worthwhile.”

He whines again, and the sound leaves her aching. As she crosses to her night stand and retrieves her bottle of lube, she lets out a long slow breath. Cool your jets, Emily. Just wait a little longer, and it’s gonna be so much better. Still, her fingers feel slightly numb as she squeezes lube onto them. But that’s just her excitement getting the better of her. She works her fingers to warm up the lube while trying to remain as quiet as possible. But at every faint squish, Wash squirms, struggling with himself to follow her orders, and more warmth unfurls in her gut. Best to move on so she doesn’t make a mess of herself before she gets to lay a hand on him.

Without a word of warning, she crawls onto the bed behind him and curls her hand around his shaft, her grip loose and slippery and tantalizing. Hips twitching into her grip, Wash groans. She can imagine the torment playing out in his head: the want of more, more, more warring with the need to behave. Leaning forward, she kisses the small of his back, savors the hints of salt and musk on his skin, and pumps lazily. She wrings broken noises out of him, loosening her grip every time he tries to hump forward and quicken their pace. “Good boy,” she whispers into his skin. “Just feel good, and let go.”

He tenses up, shaking his head. “Em,” he gasps.

She lets go of his penis quick and scrambles around the bed to check on him. “What’s the matter, Wash? Too much? Did you strain something? Does it hurt when you swallow? I can page one of the on-call medics if we need to get help. Collins is discrete and knows that if he says anything I’ll take away his testes.”

“Christ, Em, no,” Wash grits out, turning his cheek to face her. She touches his cheek with her clean hand, rubbing slowly as he pulls himself together. “Still green. I just…” He blushes again. “I wanna earn that reward.”

Her breath catches in her throat without her consent. “Oh, sweetie,” she says as she leans down and kisses him. “Coming isn’t your reward.”

Brow crinkled, Wash looks up at her. “If that’s not, then what…” he trails off, his eyes drifting up the stretch of her legs to the elastic line of her thigh highs, his jaw tipping open. 

When he looks back to her, there’s an uncertain question in his eyes. Oh, he’s quick sometimes. She likes it when her subs can keep up. Cupping his chin, Emily leans in close and whispers, “Stay nice and still and tell me before you cum, and you’ll get your reward.”

Trembling, Wash nods and turns his face back to the bedsheets, preparing himself for the onslaught. She grins down at him then returns to her position behind him and takes his shaft once more. Slowly and smoothly, she keeps a leisurely pace. Twisting her wrist on each upstroke earns her a choked off moan, and every few pumps she sweeps her thumb over his head to gather the precum budding there—more lubrication is rarely a bad thing. And Wash does his best to follow her orders, really he does, but his hips keep twitching to change her angle. When she tuts and eases her hand around him, he keens and rights his position, his spine bowing as he sinks deeper into the bed. Only then does she tighten her grip.

For some minutes, the only sounds that fill the room are the slick slide of flesh against flesh and Wash’s ragged breathing. Emily allows herself a moment to sit back and take it all in. Wash’s neck is pink from exertion. His ass cheeks clench in his effort to control himself. He pants into the bed, his eyes probably squeezed shut. She loves seeing all his want laid bare and loses herself in his struggle, squeezing her thighs together to stop her free hand from worming between them.

“Em,” he whimpers, turning his head just far enough to speak. “‘m close.”

“Good boy,” she says, her own voice stuck in her throat. “Count backwards from one hundred. When you get to one, you have my permission.”

She doesn’t wait for him to acknowledge the order. Instead she tightens her hand into a fist and pumps hard and fast, just the way he likes. Wash moans into the bedsheets, thrusting into her grip just once before he starts talking. “One hundred, ninety-nine, ninety-eight, ninety-seven, ninety-six, ninety-fi-IVE.” Without warning, she stop stroking him and clamps down hard around the base of his penis. Wash tries another thrust, but her hand stays flush against his groin. He grits his teeth and starts counting faster. “Ninety-four, ninety-three, ninety-two, ninety-one, ninety, eighty-nine, eighty-eight, oh!” And she starts stroking again.

She follows no pattern as she alternates. Sometimes she’ll hold him off for only a few seconds, other times for a ten count or more. Sometimes she just clamps around his dick, other times his balls. But every time she switches tempo, Wash groans longer and louder; who could blame her for drawing out his pleasure just a little longer? Especially when she gets to watch all the muscles in his back and legs tense and twitch as he holds himself back from the edge.

“Nineteen, eighteen, seventeen, sixteen, fifteen, fourteen.”

Clamping a hand around his balls, she chuckles, “Remember, sweetie, all the way to one before you let go.”

With a whimper, Wash nods. “Thirteen, twelve, eleven, ten, nine—”

“Be a good boy now.” And she pumps him harder and faster than before.

“Fuck,” Wash gasps, tilting backward into her grip. “Nine, eight, s-seven, six, five, four, three, two, one—Ah!”

He pulses in her hand, spending into her hand and onto the bedsheets below him, limbs shaking as he struggles to hold himself up. Breath stuck in her throat, she works him through it, teasing him until he can’t help bucking at her touch. Grinning, she wipes her hand on the sheets. Another day, she might tell him to lick up his mess, but her own exhaustion is starting to close in around the edges of her vision. She can only imagine Wash must be feeling the same.

She guides Wash to drop to the side of his little puddle, easing him down onto his stomach. She massages up his legs and loosens the knot binding his hands together. Working one arm and then the other, she helps him drift back to reality. When he blinks up at her, his eyelids heavy but his gaze clear, she grins. “There’s my good boy.”

Wash snickers into the bedsheets. “You know, with all this “Good boy” talk, you’re gonna give me a puppy play kink or something.”

Cackling, Emily settles herself next to him, her hand idly tracing through his hair. “You’ve got the eyes for it. And I’m pretty sure I have schematics for a tail somewhere. You’d be adorable, your tail flopping back and forth and betraying your resting bitch face.”

With a gentle, tired laugh, Wash presses his cheek to the mattress; a moment later, he jerks back up. “Wait, you’re talking about an actual tail, aren’t you?”

“Of course, silly! What else would I be talking about?”

Blushing, Wash shakes his head. “Christ, Em. Do not surgically attach a robot tail to my body.”

She huffs. “If you insist.”

“So,” he says as he leans over and nuzzles her thigh. “Do I get my reward yet?”

Grinning slyly, she rakes her nails through his hair. “Where will you be most comfortable?”

His breath turns ragged, stuttering over her skin. “On my back?”

Her gut lurches, and a wave of want crashes over her. She can feel herself leaking down her thighs, but nonetheless, she helps roll Wash onto his back so she can straddle his face. His worn hands skim over her knees, tickling the exposed skin above her thigh highs as she settles her weight over him. “Two taps for when you need a breather.”

Wash gives her a brief challenging smirk before he grabs her by the hips and pulls her down onto his face. She gasps at the sudden change in position and the rasp of his stubble on her inner thighs. There’s hot breath against her slit and firm pressure on her clit, and she can’t stop herself from melting. And Wash growls against her, licking her clean before driving his tongue in deep. Emily arches her back and grinds down against him, relishing every moment, including watching Wash’s penis make a valiant effort to come back to life. God, rewarding Wash is its own reward. 

One day, she’ll get it through his thick skull that he’s more than the sum of his sins. One day, she’ll convince him that he’s more than all the people he has killed and hurt. That he doesn’t have to prove he can make someone feel good. But until then, her job is to be there when he needs her, so she flexes her thighs around his head, and grips his hair nice and firm, and rides his tongue until she can no longer keep herself upright, until her legs wobble and her stomach aches from clenching. And after she stops trembling and climbs off Wash, she pulls him into her arms and kisses him for all her worth. Relishes the pleased sounds he makes and the taste of herself on his tongue and smiles sleepily. “So if the tail’s a deal breaker,” she asks, pausing midway to yawn, “how to you feel about a collar and muzzle?”

Wash drops his head to her shoulder, laughing almost hysterically. “Christ, Em, don’t make me get hard again.”

If she hadn’t been awake for the past twenty-eight hours, she’d be beaming. Instead she slumps against his shoulder. “Fine, but you better be ready for me in the morning.”

“Deal.”

She grins and lets her eyes fall shut. 

Maybe she can give herself a little break after all. If she wants to spend a little more time with her lover before he ships off to his home and the idiots who’ve chosen him for a leader, really who can blame her.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and con-crit welcome. Come scream with me on Tumblr (birdsbeesandlemonadetrees.tumblr.com)


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